Opening Gambit
by Argonaut57
Summary: It begins with a brazen attempt to abduct the Potter children. As Harry begins to investigate, he must entrust the safety of his family to the 3000-year-old Spartan, Kratos and the enigmatic Dr River Song.
1. Chapter 1

**The Dark Cycle 2: Opening Gambit**

_**Prologue: 1994**_

_He awoke to a soft light that came from panels in the surface a few inches above him. He had not expected to awake, and it was this that occupied his thoughts for the first few moments. _

_He had slain the creature he called his father, brutally, with his bare hands. It had been, by then, for more than revenge. It had been for the humanity he himself no longer felt a part of. _

_Then his half-sister had come to him. She had claimed to have grown beyond all lust for power, and yet the first thing she had done was demand his power of him – the power of Hope he had not known he possessed. So he had impaled himself on his own blade, freeing the power among those who needed it. The mortals whose world his vengeance had all but shattered. With his last strength, he had pulled himself over the cliff and plunged into the dark violence of the unchained sea._

_Then there had been darkness. A darkness, finally, void of the nightmares that had tormented him for years. But now he was awake again. Not dead, even now. Well, he was a Spartan, and if he was to be denied death, then he would face life as a warrior should._

_He seemed to be in some kind of box, laid on soft cushions, with the glowing underside of the lid above him. He raised his hands to push at the lid and, as if sensing his movement, the thing slid smoothly aside. There was only darkness outside, but as he sat up, lights came on. _

_Crystal lamps like those of Olympus lit a large room like many he had seen on that mountain. He climbed out of the box, a thing like an elaborate sarcophagus, of the kind the Pharaohs of Khem were interred in. As he moved around the room, he was conscious of his strength returning._

_Finding a mirror, he examined himself. His body was as tall and powerful as ever, his face unchanged, his skin still ashen-white save where the red spiral tattoo marked it. But the great scars on his torso from the three death-wounds he had suffered were gone, as if they had never been._

_Then the image in the mirror clouded over and changed. Facing him now was a woman, a superb, dark-haired beauty in clothing carefully calculated to reveal much, and hint at what little was concealed._

"_Aphrodite." He growled, feeling the old anger rise._

"_Kratos." The woman replied. "There is no point speaking, beloved, I cannot hear you. I left this world long ago, along with those few of my family you neglected to slaughter. This is merely a message._

"_I retrieved your corpse from the sea. Oh, but it was a joy to hear the frustrated howls of Athene when you robbed her! She was ever her father's daughter, else she would have Ascended fully, and no longer been concerned with your fate, or that of Earth._

"_I placed you in the sarcophagus, knowing that it would revive you. It is a device we use to renew the health and vigour of ourselves and our hosts, but over-use of it takes away our sanity. Hephaistos, though useless as a husband, was a great craftsman, and he built two special sarcophagi, one for each of us, that avoided this effect. It is the one he built for himself that you have rested in. I wanted you sane._

"_And now you are wondering why? I have been loved by both gods and men, Kratos, but none of them matched you. That is one reason." Aphrodites' eyes suddenly flashed with a strange inner light, and her voice became deeper, guttural, alien. "The other reason was revenge, Ghost of Sparta. You wake in a world some thousands of years after you left it. All that you knew is gone. All that is left is the world you made when you gave hope to the pathetic humans. Go, see what you have made, and may you find it the Hell you deserve!"_

_The light faded, and her voice returned to normal. "Do not seek me out, Kratos. If I am still alive, I am far away, and this host, at least, will be long dead. I am not wholly cruel. There are devices in the other chamber which will allow you to learn something of this world before you venture forth. I would have you survive here long enough to suffer at least a little."_

**Chapter One**

"A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. " (_A Manual of Muad'Dib_ by the Princess Irulan)

"He must be removed from the equation, he is the greatest danger to our plans!" Arabella Riddle spoke in the tone of a woman who has already explained the same thing far too often.

"I'm sure you have your reasons for thinking so, Arabella." The Master of the Scholomance replied. "But are you sure they aren't purely personal reasons?

"Do you seriously wish us to consider Harry Potter a greater danger than Charles Xavier, the Avengers, SHIELD, Sir John Steed or Dr Strange? To name but a few?

"What do your fellow wizards think? Mr Arkham?"

The bald, scarred man with the mismatched eyes shrugged. "I wouldn't take him on, but then my speciality is ritual magic, not spellcasting. I can't answer for the others."

Justin DuMorne frowned. "We cannot forget that Potter was a favoured pupil of Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard ever to refuse a seat on the White Council." He noted. "His skills and abilities certainly match those of my own former pupil, Harry Dresden, though he has less raw power. Or perhaps controls it better. He is not a wizard I would challenge lightly, but I do not see him as being a real threat to us all.

"Baron?"

"I could crush him with a thought." Said Mordo flatly.

Arabella was about to offer an angry retort when help came from an unexpected quarter. From the muggle side of the table, Heinrich Blofeld spoke up.

"I believe you have all missed the point that Fraulein Riddle is trying to make." He said quietly. "Herr DuMorne and the Herr Baron may be correct in their assessment of Herr Potters' magical abilities, but these are only a part of the threat he represents.

"I am a member of this body in part because of my ability to collect intelligence. As such, I have taken care to assemble as much information as I can about potential threats. All potential threats. You will agree, I think, that as Head of the Auror Division of the British Ministry of Magic, Herr Potter comes under that heading. On that basis, I completed a threat assessment." He laid his hand on a thick file that was on the table in front of him. "Should anyone wish to read the full report, they may do so later. For now, I will summarise.

"Harry Potter became head of the Auror Division in 2007, at a remarkably young age. He had already been official liaison between that force and the muggle Special Branch. After the events of 2008, he was in the forefront of those pressing for closer contact between the wizard and muggle worlds. As such, he is personally known to Colonel Steve Rogers, of SHIELD and Kate Stewart, Head of the UK branch of UNIT. He is also known, at least by reputation, to many members of the White Council.

"However, this is not all. By virtue of a highly classified mission in 2012 -a mission the details of which I am unable to ascertain – he forged other contacts. Most notably for our purposes with personnel from NCIS -the American Naval Criminal Investigation Service – and Stargate Command. On a more personal, but perhaps even more significant, level, he has developed warm personal friendships with the demon-hunter Dante Sparda, the Immortal Duncan MacLeod, Mr Antony Stark, alias Iron Man, and the Grimm Nicholas Burkhardt. Herr Potter is well-known and respected at the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery, the French Bureau des Sorcieres, and the Bundes Zaubererschaftministerium in Berlin. More importantly, he has equal regard with the NYPD, the FBI, Scotland Yard, MI5, SHIELD, UNIT, the Sanctuary Network and Mossad.

"Given this network of contacts – and these are the known ones – Herr Potter is perhaps uniquely placed to uncover our plans before they come to fruition. It is vital that the forces we must face do not begin to act together until it is too late. Herr Potter is perhaps the one man capable of ensuring that this happens. I am therefore forced to concur with Fraulein Riddle – this player must be removed from the board.

"As a final point," here, Blofeld directed his deceptively sleepy gaze at the Master, "it is rumoured that Herr Potter is also known to the individual known as The Doctor."

Only an expert -and Blofeld was one – would have noticed the sudden tension in the Master. His shrug and tone were apparently careless as he said "Very well. Kill him."

"_Nein_." This was the Red Skull, who now leaned forward. "Such an act would be strategically unsound. If, as Blofeld says, Potter is known and admired by so many, his death- even if apparently an accident – would trigger too wide-ranging and intense an investigation. The very unification of forces we must at all costs avoid. As indeed would his disappearance. He must be neutralised some other way. What weaknesses does he have?"

"Oh, trust me, I know his weaknesses!" Arabella told them. "I've studied Potter for a long time. He can be, as you say, neutralised without physically harming him in any way.

"Besides, I don't want him dead. I want him to live to a ripe old age, so he can watch the world he built on my parents' graves torn down and rebuilt in their image!

"I will need back-up, though."

She turned to Blofeld, who nodded. "The resources of SPECTRE are at your disposal."

One of the advantages of living in a middle-class area is that schools tend to be well-supported. Well enough supported, for instance, to run Summer Clubs for kids with working Mums. This is a vital service for some families, but for others, like the Potters, it's just a handy convenience for the days Mum absolutely has to go into the office.

Ginny had an editorial meeting at the _Prophet_ this afternoon, so she had dropped James, Albus and Lily off after lunch. Now they sat outside, waiting to be picked up. Mum was late, but not scarily so, and there were staff around keeping a discreet eye on them. So they were not disposed to be too worried when they were approached by a tall, dark-haired woman in a business suit.

Arabella had watched the children earlier that afternoon, as they'd played outside. The eldest, James, who would be about nine, was something of an amalgam, having his fathers' untidy black hair, but his mothers' brown eyes and the rangy build and sharp features of a Weasley. Eight-year-old Albus was in all respects his fathers' son; compact and agile, with even features, raven hair and piercing green eyes. Lily, at six, was Ginny Potter in miniature -a sleek, powerful little girl with fiery hair and sparkling brown eyes.

"Hello." Arabella said to the children. "You're the Potter kids, aren't you? My name's Arabella Thompson. Your Mum sent me. She's been held up at the office and she asked me to come and fetch you."

She had spoken clearly, so that the staff member hovering nearby could hear. It all depended now on the childrens' reaction. Not that she couldn't deal with the young muggle woman who had begun to move closer, but it would be better to be more discreet. Potter would spot the effects of a hex a mile off, and who knew what magical protections he had put on his children?

The kids studied her. James and Lily both had expressions of frank distrust, but Albus' icy green gaze seemed to go through her like a muggle X-Ray. _He'll grow to be every bit as dangerous as his father_. Arabella reflected.

"Mummy says we're not to talk to strangers." Lily announced.

"But I'm not a stranger!" Arabella protested. "I work with your Mum at the _Prophet_. I'm an Editorial Assistant, if you know what that is."

"I do." James said. "But we know the people Mum works with. She's had them all over for tea or dinner at some point. We get Christmas cards from them."

"Ah, well I'm new, you see!" Arabella announced triumphantly.

"Well, in that case," Albus put in, "Mum wouldn't have sent you. She'd've sent somebody we know. Or she'd have used her mobile to call Dad, or Auntie 'Mione!"

This was a facer. Arabella had never expected that a Pureblood witch like Ginny Weasley would have had a mobile phone. But maybe they meant a mirror. Even so, these youngsters were sharper than she'd imagined. Maybe she should have used one of the SPECTRE agents – one who had family. She was unused to children who openly questioned adult authority in this manner, she'd been raised in Latveria, where kids did as they were told.

Then the staff member was there, and the children were explaining what was going on. Arabella repeated her story, but was feeling for her wand.

"I think," the staff member was saying, "that we'd all better come inside while I contact Mrs Potter and confirm this."

Arabella was preparing the Imperius Curse when a large shadow fell across them all and a deep male voice said, "Is there a problem here?".

Lily gave a squeal of pure delight. "Uncle Kratos!" She flung herself into the arms of the big man in the dark suit, threw her arms around his burly neck and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. The boys also crowded round, equally, if less demonstratively, pleased to see the newcomer.

Arabella studied this new element. The man called Kratos stood around six feet tall, but looked stocky due to his broad shoulders and powerful build. He wore a dark, conservatively-cut suit over a white shirt, but no tie. His head was hairless, his face strong to the point of brutality. Oddly, his skin was dead white, except for some kind of tattoo which began above one eye and disappeared into his shirt collar at the side of his neck.

Kratos kissed Lily gently, stroked her hair and set her down, where she promptly attached herself to his leg. The staff member looked him up and down, then asked. "You're the childrens' uncle?"

"Not technically." Kratos replied. "I'm a friend of the family. Kratos Spartides."

He handed her a business card, which she perused.

"Personal security and restorations?" She asked. "You're a bodyguard? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

There was a light blush on the young womans' cheeks and her eyes were bright as she looked at Kratos. Arabella wasn't surprised, she was aware of a _frisson_ herself. The man was an almost perfect image of primal masculinity. Then he met her eyes. His were dark brown, oddly flecked with green and they told her three things. First, that he knew what she was. Second, he didn't care what she was. Third, if she didn't back off, things were going to get messy.

The muggle girl was saying. "Unfortunately, I don't know you Mr Spartides. Obviously, the children do, but we have rules..."

"Of course." He replied courteously. "Why don't you go inside and contact Ginny - Mrs Potter? I'm sure she'll say it's OK for me to mind the kids till she gets here."

"Oh!" Albus interrupted. "Here comes Mum now! She's got Auntie River with her!"

"Ah!" Arabella said. "She must have got out of the meeting sooner than she expected. I'd best be on my way, then!"

She walked off, quickly, in the opposite direction.

"_Knew_ she was a fake!" Albus stated flatly. "She had a funny accent!"

"Well, so do I." Kratos told him.

"That's different." The boy replied insouciantly, then dashed off to hug his mother.

"I'm sorry I'm late." Ginny was telling the children. "Something went wrong on the Tube and the trains were stopped. I came up to find somewhere I could phone from, and met up with Auntie River. She very kindly gave me a lift, and here I am!"

"S'OK, Mum." James told her. "This funny woman came up and told us you'd sent her to fetch us, but we didn't believe her. Then Uncle Kratos came and scared her!"

Ginny finally registered Kratos' presence, and her face lit with a beam. She dashed over and hugged him tight.

"Kratos!" She exclaimed. "I didn't think we'd see you again! Harry will be chuffed! How did you get here?"

"Long story." He told her. "Right now, though, these children require feeding, I'm sure."

"Meaning," she replied, "that you do as well? Men are so transparent! Kratos, this is my friend River. River, this is Kratos."

The attractive blonde offered Kratos her hand, while devouring him with her eyes.

"Dr Song." He acknowledged.

"You know me?" She asked.

"I'm familiar with your work, especially in Greece. I have a long-term interest in Greek antiquities." Kratos said blandly.

River eyed him narrowly. "Yes." She said. "I'll just bet you do! Bit of a Greek antiquity yourself, if I'm right."

"You have no idea!" He answered with a grim smile.

"Oh," she countered, "I always have an idea. Sometimes several!"

"Are you coming back with us, Kratos?" Ginny asked. "Harry will be disappointed if you don't at least have dinner with us."

"Oh, _please_, Uncle Kratos!" Lily pleaded.

"Well, put like that, how can I refuse?" Kratos said. "I need to speak with Harry, anyway. I'm parked over here."

He was, in fact parked close to where River and Ginny were. Ginny promptly started a debate by announcing: "Right, then! Who wants to ride in Auntie Rivers' Ferrari and who wants to go in Uncle Kratos' Jeep?"

Kratos and River were only thankful that the law required children to travel in the back. The arguments about who had or hadn't called shotgun would have made the discussion even longer, and louder.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dark Cycle 2: Opening Gambit**

**Chapter Two**

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." (Sherlock Holmes)

"We're only having a snack now." Ginny said, carrying two heaped plates of sandwiches into the lounge. "Harry's not at the office today, so he'll be home for dinner early. These are ham, the others are cheese."

She set them down on the coffee table, then moved aside so that the Potters' old House-elf, Kreacher, could put another plate of sausage rolls and pork pies beside them, along with a bowl of crisps. Drinks were already on a sideboard nearby.

"No cucumber sandwiches?" River asked in a tone of mock disappointment.

"Oooh, no moi loverr!" Ginny replied, exaggerating her soft West Country burr for comic effect. "We don't 'ave none o' that there posh stuff 'ere!"

"I need to mix with a better class of people!" River replied, helping herself to a sandwich. "Grab some quick, Kratos, before the boys make them all vanish!"

"So where is Harry today?" Kratos asked.

"At Hogwarts." Ginny said. "Advising on the new Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus. Especially the _Twilight_ problem."

"And what, pray tell, is the twilight problem – other than poor visibility?" River wanted to know.

"Oh, some dimwitted muggle woman wrote some books for teenagers about a young woman falling in love with a Vampire." Ginny growled. "All the sort of dark, angsty stuff teenage girls lap up, you know? Anyway, they went mega best-seller and got made into films and spawned a lot of imitations.

"When it was only muggles, it didn't matter so much, but of course, between the muggle-borns and the half-bloods, they got into our world. So now we have a raft of young people thinking it might be cool to date a Vampire."

"So Harry wants to make sure they don't?" Kratos guessed.

"Well, not entirely." Ginny told him. "It's more about telling the Vampires apart. You see, Red Court and Black Court Vampires are pure predators. With them, it's not about romance, it's about lunch. The White Court, on the other hand, are dangerous, yes, but not hostile. They need humans to feed off, but the way they feed isn't, in and of itself, harmful, and they're born, not turned. It's OK to be in a relationship with a White Court Vampire, as long as you know what you're getting into!

"Right, you three! If you've finished eating me out of house and home, let's get you upstairs. Washed and changed and half-way presentable for your Dad, OK?"

Left alone, River turned to Kratos. "So," she said, "how do you know the Potters?"

"I did a job with Harry and some others a while back." Kratos said guardedly.

"Hmm." River pondered. "that would've been with the Marine, yes? You're not the sort of person my old man would recruit.

"But that still doesn't explain how the Ghost of Sparta, supposedly dead for three thousand years, turns up in 21st Century England in a rather smart suit, speaking good, modern English without the aid of a TARDIS translation matrix. Are you going to enlighten me?"

"It is, as I told Ginny, rather a long story." Kratos told her. "For now, let's just say it involved a vengeful Gou'a'ould and a custom sarcophagus. For you, Dr Song, that should be more than enough to fill in the blanks."

"Aphrodite, then." River decided. "Do call me River, sweetie."

"As you wish, River." Kratos gave the slight grimace that passed for his smile. "So, how do you know our hosts?"

"Oh, I arranged to get myself invited to speak on local archaeology at the Womens' Institute branch Ginny and Hermione belong to." River said airily. "There are no wizard archaeologists, and I knew Hermione Weasleys' reputation well enough to know she'd try to recruit me. The rest was easy."

"Do they know who you are?" Kratos asked.

"I'm sure Harry does." River allowed. "He's the sort of person who does very thorough background checks, and he has high-level clearance at UNIT. Ginny's never said anything, but then she wouldn't. For a woman who talks almost constantly, she's incredibly discreet when it matters."

As if to give the lie to Rivers' statement, Ginnys' Stentorian bellow came to them: "RIVER! KRATOS! Child-wranglers needed! Stat!"

A couple of hours later, the fireplace in the lounge burned green, and Harry stepped out of it, to be promptly tackled by his enthusiastic offspring. Those essential and boisterous greetings disposed of, he was then engaged in a scarcely-less energetic welcome from his wife. River he greeted with a more decorous hug, before being brought up short by the second guest.

"Kratos?" He said disbelievingly. "Bloody Hell, mate, you look great! What are you doing here?"

Kratos returned the hearty handshake. "Looking for you, my friend. But we'll talk about that later. Right now, I think dinner is in order."

The meal was a simple family one, smoked mackerel with salad, followed by summer pudding with clotted cream. The kids, Ginny and River chattered constantly throughout the meal. Harry and Kratos did the breathing for them – somebody had to. But Harry took careful note of the childrens' story about the sinister lady with the funny accent. A shared look with his wife alerted him to leave fuller discussion until later.

Shortly after that, a sleepily protesting Lily was packed off to bed, where she dozed off contentedly during Uncle Kratos' retelling of a story of the mighty Heracles. Ginny and River sat watching Harry having a kick-about with the boys on the lawn.

"It wasn't an accident, running into you today, was it, River?" Ginny asked quietly.

River gave her a sharp glance. "How much do you know?" She asked directly.

"As much as Harry would tell me." Ginny replied. "Who it is you're married to and some of what you do in between the archaeology. It must be awfully difficult being married to that particular man."

"Probably less difficult than being married to an Auror." River pointed out. "The thing about my husband is he always has time for me. Literally. Of course, he doesn't tell me everything, either."

Ginny nodded. "Harry is good. He tells me as much as I need to know to keep us all safe, but not everything. What I don't know, I can't be made to tell. And truthfully, there are more important things than sharing his work.

"Was it your husband who sent you?"

No." River shook her head. "It was someone else. Do you know what a Vorlon is?"

"Some kind of alien?" Ginny hazarded.

"A very old, very advanced and annoyingly secretive species." River told her. "They make a profession out of being cryptic, but when they do pop up, it pays to listen to them. One sought me out a few months ago and _suggested_ that I needed to keep an eye on you and the children."

"So you knew that something was going to happen today?" Ginny wanted to know.

River shook her head. "Not specifically. But I had a feeling, a hunch. I've found it pays to act on my hunches."

"Which only leaves us wondering," Ginny mused, "about how and why Kratos turned up so providentially?"

"I'd heard rumours he'd resurfaced." River admitted. "But only that, so I didn't follow up. But there are no coincidences where the Vorlons are involved."

At that point, Harry called time on the game, and the chaotic business of getting two young boys to bed absorbed everyones' attention for a while.

That done, the adults adjourned to the lounge with coffee, and the serious conversation began. The first thing was to fully explain to Harry the story the children had told him, about the mysterious Arabella Thompson and her attempt to take the kids from Summer Club. That done, River and Kratos had explanations to give.

"As I told Ginny earlier," River said, "I was told by a Vorlon that I needed to keep an eye on your family, Harry."

"Ah!" Harry said. "I'd assumed that it was either your husband or that Ood Sigma character who'd put you on to us. You must have known I'd suss you out, River."

"I did, and I expected to have to explain myself to you much sooner." River allowed. "But it seems you've learned to play things close to your chest, Harry.

"Anyway, I had a bad feeling about today, so I made it my business to keep an eye on the _Leaky Cauldron_ after Ginny went to her meeting. Why didn't you Floo, Ginny?"

"It was Kreachers' afternoon off." Ginny told her. "My parents are abroad right now, and 'Mione is in the office today. So I decided to pop the kids in at Summer Club for the afternoon, so they could see some of their school friends and have a bit of fun. I couldn't do that by Floo, and there was nowhere I could go to Apparate from, not in London in the middle of the day. So I took the Underground."

"That makes sense, but it also means our opponents are well-organised. There's no way they could've known in advance what you were going to do today. This house can't be seen by anyone who doesn't know it's here, but the entire city is covered with muggle surveillance gear. They must have tapped into that and spotted you.

"After that, they must've been watching the pub, like me. I saw you come out and go into the Tube station down the road. Then I saw a big black van pull up near the exit and three men in overalls get out and start pretending to do some work on the streetlight nearby.

"They were very good, very professional, but I'm better, so I knew they weren't workmen. Next thing, there's a crowd of people coming out of the station..."

Ginny nodded. "They put out an announcement that there was some kind of fault, and that all the trains would be stopped for about an hour. I couldn't wait that long, I was running a bit late anyway, so I came up to find a taxi and to phone the school and ask them to keep an eye on the sprogs till I got there. That was when I ran into you."

"Yes, I had to move fast. They'd spotted you and were moving in. But they obviously didn't want witnesses, so they backed off when I spoke to you." River explained.

"They must have been muggles." Harry stated. "Wizards would've grabbed Ginny in Diagon Alley – the _Prophet _office is in a quiet area, too close to Knockturn Alley for my liking. Not that any wizard would want to take a chance of grabbing Ginny – she's too skilled and powerful a witch to make that anything but dodgy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, luv." Ginny said. "But if muggles are going to be after me, I think I need to take a few more of those Tae-Kwon-Do classes you've been asking me to go to."

"That wouldn't have helped." River said. "These men were professionals. I recognised one of them. His name is Pierre Desroches, and he made his bones in the Marseilles gangs before being hired by SPECTRE. They'd have had you Tasered, into that van, drugged, hog-tied and away before you could react."

"Who or what is SPECTRE?" Ginny demanded.

"Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion." Harry told her. "A small, but elite, group of criminal mercenaries who carry out special tasks for other criminals and occasionally governments. It was founded by a man named Ernst Stavro Blofeld in the late 1940s and caused a good deal of trouble throughout the Fifties and into the Sixties. Blofeld himself was killed by Commander James Bond in about 1964, and shortly after that, SPECTRE collapsed.

"Something like ten years ago, it surfaced again, led by a Heinrich Francois Blofeld who claims to be Ernst Blofelds' grandson. SPECTRE is still up to the same tricks, hiring out a high level of expertise to drug cartels and other organised crime groups for specific jobs.

"But they've never been involved with wizards before, so who hired them, and why?"

"Which brings us to my part in all this." Kratos said. "As to how and why I'm here, in this century, that story can wait for another time. I've been around now for about ten years, but for five of them I was living off the grid until I learned enough to get by. The place I woke in contained a large hoard of precious stones, so I was able to fund my 'education'.

"Once I felt able, I created an identity for myself. Kratos Spartides is by way of being a soldier of fortune. I protect people who need protection, find things that have gone missing in unusual circumstances, and occasionally join or lead groups of mercenaries." Kratos shrugged. "I'm a Spartan, I was raised for this kind of work and it's all I know, what I'm best at."

"Well, I admit, Kratos, luv, I couldn't see you as an accountant!" Ginny stated with a grin.

"And you can guard my body anytime!" River added impishly.

Kratos made a rumbling noise that might have been a chuckle, then went on. "Of course, I meant to make contact with you, Harry. But since we last saw each other, I've done a little meddling with time and history myself, and it didn't end well. So I needed to make sure that I didn't see you – and you didn't see me – until our previous encounter was in your past.

"I wasn't sure about the date of our little adventure from your viewpoint, but for the last couple of years, I've been discreetly checking up on young Lily."

"Why Lily?" Ginny asked, then. "Oh! Calliopes' pendant!"

Kratos nodded. "I knew that when and if I saw Lily wearing the pendant, it would be safe to contact you. It never occurred to me that she wouldn't be allowed to wear it at school, of course. But today, I happened to pass by, and saw her in the playground. She was wearing the pendant, so I waited, knowing that one of you would come to collect her.

"Then I saw the Countess approach the children, and had to intervene."

"The Countess?" Harry asked. "You know her?"

"I've encountered her." Kratos said. "Last summer, I undertook a job for the Romanian government. There are a number of ruined castles in the area known as Transylvania, and it appeared that a group of heavily-armed people were poking around in one of them."

"Castle Dracula?" Harry asked.

"No." Kratos told him. "Castle Ferenczy. That castle had had a very bad reputation with the locals before it was destroyed in 1928 by a massive explosion. Whatever those people were looking for, it was important enough for them to open fire on local police. The Romanian government didn't want to look as if it couldn't handle a simple internal problem without using the military, so they asked me to lead a small force of mercenaries to clear out the intruders.

"It turned out to be a very nasty business. The troops we were up against were well-armed and highly-trained, and took some winkling out."

"SPECTRE again?" River asked.

Kratos shook his head. "No, paramilitary isn't SPECTREs' strength. These were a different group, who I don't know, but not ordinary mercenaries.

"Anyway, we fought our way to the lowest level of their excavations, where we found some sort of makeshift laboratory, with that woman apparently in charge. She was clearly desperate to finish something, because the officer in charge of her guards finally demanded that she leave. By then, only he and two others were standing. That was when he addressed her as 'Countess'. She argued with him for a moment, in good English, but with a Latverian accent. Then she turned on the spot and disappeared, just like I've seen you do, Harry. That's how I knew she was a witch."

"Did she see you?" Harry asked. "Don't mean to be rude, Kratos, but your face isn't one people forget!"

Kratos rumbled again, then said. "No, I was wearing a ski-mask, we all were. Even if she saw me, she wouldn't have known me again."

"Did you question any of your opponents?" River asked. "You can't have killed all of them."

"No, we didn't." Kratos said. "But they did. Those we didn't kill, killed their own wounded and then took cyanide. By the time we got round to looking for survivors, they'd made sure there weren't any!"

Harry gave Kratos a piercing look. He'd seen that behaviour once before. _Something to look into another time_, he thought. Meanwhile, Kratos had reached into a bag he'd brought in with him and produced a tablet computer.

"I'm not sure if these things are a blessing or a curse." He said as he switched it on. "It certainly beats scrolls and stone blocks for storing information. On the other hand, I'm developing a serious Sudoku addiction!"

"I know that one!" Ginny admitted. "'Mione and I are at daggers drawn on Bejewelled Blitz!"

"Pet Rescue Saga!" River chimed in.

Harry shrugged. "Rome: Total War." He allowed.

Kratos reached into his jacket pocket and produced an SD card. "This is from my camera, I took some snaps this afternoon.

He slotted the card into the tablet and began to flip through the pictures. "Here," he said, "this is the woman I know as the Countess."

Harry took the tablet and looked at it. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Without a word, he handed the tablet to Ginny, who accepted it with a look of surprise that turned into shock.

"Jupiter!" She exclaimed. "It's not...I mean it can't be, can it? Not unless she's come back to life _and _got younger!"

Harry shook his head. "Look more closely." He told her. "Look at the fence she's standing near. It's a six-foot one, so she must be at least five-ten. Also, that womans' eyes are grey. Apart from that, though, she's the living spit!"

"The living spit of _who_, exactly?" River asked with some asperity. "You two are starting to sound like me and my old man!"

Harry sighed. "A face from the past." He said softly. "This Countess is the image of an old, long-dead opponent of ours. She's taller, and her eyes are a different colour, but the facial structure, the expression, the stance. She looks almost exactly like the late and unlamented Bellatrix Lestrange!"

Light clearly dawned on River, but Kratos still looked blank, so Harry explained. "Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, was a Pureblood witch of great power and skill. She was a fanatical Death-Eater and one of the closest personal associates of Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort.

"Bellatrix died in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1997, killed in a duel by Ginnys' Mum..."

"Remind me not to annoy your mother-in-law." River murmured, making everyone smile. Then Harry grew serious again.

"Bellatrix was married, to Rudolphus Lestrange, but there's no record of them ever having children. Which is odd, if this Countess is her daughter. The birth of a Pureblood child was cause for a lot of bragging and celebration in those circles.

"There are other possibilities. Bellatrix had two sisters, Narcissa and Andromeda. Andromeda, in particular, looks very like Bellatrix. But Andromeda married a muggle-born wizard and was cut off from her family – she teaches at Hogwarts now. As for Narcissa, she married a Lucius Malfoy, another Pureblood, and they have one son, Draco. If they had any other kids, they'd not have hidden them."

"Is it possible," Kratos asked, "that the Countess is an illegitimate daughter of one of these women? Perhaps the result of an adulterous relationship? I do not know the customs of your wizard world on such matters."

"They're confused." Harry said. "Most wizards are still quite conservative in a lot of ways – pre- or extra- marital sex is frowned on, or at least sniffed at. My sister-in-law, Hermione, is muggle-born, and has modern ideas – she all but had to bully poor Ron into bed before they were married!

"That said, most muggle-borns and some Half-bloods are more in tune with 21st Century _mores. _But some of the old-line Pureblood families are different again. Like the old British aristocracy, a lot of them are of French extraction and take that as an excuse to flout conventional morality. They tend to keep mistresses or lovers, and aren't always shy about acknowledging illegitimate kids. Lucius Malfoy had a son by his mistress – a bit younger than Draco - called Regius Fitzmalfoy. Lucius acknowledged the boy and paid for his education, though not at Hogwarts.

"So, yes, this woman could have come from an unknown...liaison. But she looks far too much like Bellatrix to belong to anyone else."

"Our more immediate problem," Ginny said practically, "is why a witch is working with a muggle crime gang and what they want with me and the kids!"

"Well, the four of you need to go somewhere safe, first thing tomorrow!" Harry stated.

"Not just yet." River put in. "We need to catch one of these people. We need to draw them out."

"Using my family as bait?" Harry growled.

"Not exactly." River said. "I have a plan."

"Is it a cunning plan?" Ginny asked.

"So cunning that if it had a tail, it'd be a fox!" River declared. "Now listen..."

Later, as Harry was locking up, he couldn't help grinning. River Song had a streak of low cunning that almost matched Rons'! It would be interesting to see how those two got on, though he hoped for Hermiones' sake it wasn't too well!

As he passed the lounge, he saw something glowing softly. Kratos had left his tablet on the coffee-table, and Kreacher was looking at it.

"She looks a lot like her, doesn't she?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, Kreacher. I should have asked you if you knew anything straight away."

"Master does not need to apologise." Kreacher said. "Kreacher does not know this woman. She does resemble Mistress Bellatrix, except for her eyes. Kreacher has seen those eyes before, but he cannot recall where."

Harry had the same feeling. It bothered him. But when he woke in the small hours, he knew where he'd seen those eyes. He also knew who might be able to give him the answers he needed.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Dark Cycle 2: Opening Gambit**

**Chapter Three**

"He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious. " (Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_)

There are few sights in England more pleasing than a public park on a sunny summer day. The fact that such oases of green and quiet still exist in the middle of the urban sprawl which is London is a fitting tribute to the Victorian philanthropists and reformers who put them there.

Today, there were about a dozen children running about the small playground, with its complement of swings, see-saw, slide and climbing frame. The air was full of their voices, which are so pleasant to listen to as long as you can't hear what they're actually saying. On the benches around the area was a typical collection of young Mums, the occasional Dad and a few Grandmas and Grandads. One of the mothers was a petite, shapely redhead whose eyes flicked at the standard interval from her magazine to the kids.

A little further away, on one of the benches that lined the well-kept path, a powerfully-built bald man was in earnest conversation with a slim blonde. Another blonde, in jogging clothes, who had passed several times, was currently engaged in stretching exercises, using another bench. A Transit van, carrying the logo "Park Services" was grinding along the path in low gear.

Then the day was no longer typical, as the van drew level with the playground, gunned its engine, swept up onto the grass with a roar, and stopped. The rear and side doors banged open to disgorge four black-clad men who made for the playground. At the same time, five more figures in black emerged from the clump of trees nearby and headed for the same target.

The attackers had planned to to cause shock and surprise. Instead, they found themselves on the receiving end, as with a deafening crack, all but three of the children and most of the adults vanished. The three remaining children – two dark-haired boys and a red-headed girl – moved quickly and purposefully toward the red-headed woman, who joined them in the middle of the playground along with an elderly, but tall and ramrod-straight, woman. These five stood back to back in a circle that bristled with wands.

The two assailants who had come from the side-door of the van were already down, hit by accurate stun hexes cast by the blonde witch who'd been talking with the bald man. The jogger had pulled a pistol out of nowhere and ruthlessly gunned down the two who had come from the back. The bald man had vaulted over the back of the bench and was heading for the others at a speed that belied his bulk.

One of the group from the trees, after a moment's hesitation, raised his taser, aiming for the red-headed woman. Too slow, as her stun hex took him squarely between the eyes and sent him down like a pole-axed ox. Then the big man crashed into them like a battering-ram and it was over in a moment. Whatever fighting-style the bald man employed – and none of his opponents or allies recognised it – was brutally effective. All that was seen was a whirl of limbs and falling bodies. All that was heard were a few grunts, the unpleasant sound of bones snapping and one full-throated scream.

The driver of the van was more than a little stunned by the turn of events. He finally recovered himself enough to throw the vehicle into reverse and tread on the accelerator, just as the engine died. Bemused, he turned the key several times, to be rewarded with nothing. Not even the whirring of the starter motor.

Then the jogger appeared at the passenger window, open on this hot day. She levelled her revolver at him and said pleasantly, "I think you'd better stop that and get out. Nice and slowly."

The driver began to reach for his own weapon when there was a screech of tortured metal behind him, as the drivers' door was wrenched off its' mounting and tossed casually to one side. He turned to find the bald man there, also aiming a gun. Staring down the barrel of a .50 calibre Desert Eagle in the hands of a Spartan warrior is a unique experience. One that few survive to remember. This man was sensible.

"OK," Ginny said to nobody in particular. "that went well."

The Community Centre was a bright, airy, modern building. The kind that makes you wonder why this particular community needs a centre. The hall that Harry had just stepped into was clearly a multi-purpose room. In the course of the average week it probably accommodated Scout and Cub meetings, aerobics classes, WI meetings and dance classes.

Just now, though, the room was full of tables, around which were sitting numbers of elderly people, neatly but inexpensively dressed, chattering happily and tucking into what Harrys' nose told him was beef casserole. As he watched from the doorway, a man approached him. A tall, thin chap in his late forties or early fifties with a kind, earnest face.

"Can I help you?" He asked. "This is the Senior Citizens' Lunch Club, the Library is across the corridor if that's what you're after. On the other hand, if you're the new Karate teacher, the Centre Office is at the back of the building."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like a Karate teacher?" He asked with a grin.

The man smiled back. "Actually, yes, going by your stance. You're certainly not a Senior Citizen!"

"True." Harry said, then produced his warrant card. "Detective Chief Inspector Harry Potter, with the Met. Would it be possible to speak with Mrs Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Oh!" The man was clearly taken aback. "Just a moment, I'll see if..." He moved away a few steps and called out. "Cissa? Have you got a minute?"

A woman nodded and came out from behind the serving table. She was still slender and graceful, Harry noted. Her face had lost little of its beauty, but had acquired a few more lines, and there was a sadness in the eyes. She was wearing dark slacks, a pale blue blouse and a matching scarf tied over her hair.

"What is it Steph?" She asked, then her eyes fell on Harry and widened. She swallowed, and then said with commendable calm. "Mr Potter! It's been a long time. What brings you here?"

"You know DCI Potter?" The man called Steph asked.

"We met a long time ago." Harry said smoothly. "Mrs Malfoy was a victim in a fraud case I worked on. I was a young Detective Constable at the time and Mrs Malfoy was very helpful."

"It's very sweet of you to say so, Mr Potter." Narcissa allowed. "But really, you know, I was only helping myself Anyway, surely you didn't come all this way off your patch just to talk about old times?"

"Well, yes and no, actually." Harry told her. "I've come across a case that seems to have some similarities to, or maybe links with, the Riddle case. I was hoping we could have a chat, maybe go over a few things? Between us, we might remember something useful. I won't take more than an hour of your time."

"Well, if you think I can help..." Narcissas' mind was clearly racing, but she covered it well. She untied the scarf from her head, shaking her hair loose in a way that clearly entranced Steph, and retied it loosely round her neck.

"Is it OK if we use the little office, Steph?" She asked.

"By all means." He told her. "Take as long as you need, the girls and I can do the clearing up without you bossing us around for once!" He reached out shyly to touch her arm. "Coffee later?" He asked.

"Of course." She replied, blushing slightly. "This way, Mr Potter."

The office was small and rather cluttered. They sat on either side of the tiny desk and sized each other up for a moment, then Narcissa said. "Draco tells me you're becoming quite the high-flier, Harry."

"For my sins, yes." Harry admitted. "It's nice to be appreciated, but being the 'go-to-guy' can be a pain in the proverbial at times."

"You two still don't speak, do you?" Narcissa shook her head. "I'd hoped you'd both get past that."

Harry shrugged. "We say hello if we pass in the corridor or meet in the canteen. Really, we don't have much cause to meet up, with me in the Auror Section and Draco in the Foreign Office. Also, it's awkward. If I went looking for Draco and being friendly, people would think I was after him, trying to fit him up for something. If he sought me out and tried to make friends, people – the same people – would accuse him of being a creep and buttering me up. Draco's had a hard enough time building a reputation for integrity and putting the past behind him without me making things worse!

"But what about you, Mrs Malfoy? I'd never have pictured you volunteering to help muggle pensioners!"

"Narcissa, please, Harry," she asked him, "we're all adults now. As for this, blame Rommie. It was she that suggested I join the WI after I moved here. She said I was too isolated, with Draco and Astoria in London, and Lucius gone. One thing led to another, and here I am! The old folk are lovely, and the other girls are fun, and there's Steph..."

She stopped there, and Harry let it alone, only commenting that he was glad she was talking to Andromeda again.

"It is nice, yes." She allowed. "But you didn't come her to ask after my wellbeing, Harry."

"No, I didn't." He said. "Tell me about Bella's child."

She stared at him for a moment. "You know about Arabella?" She asked. "I thought she was still in Latveria, safe and sound! Where is she? Has she done anything silly?"

"I have reason to believe she's in England as we speak." Harry said. "As for doing anything, she tried to kidnap my kids yesterday. Would you call that silly?"

"I'd call it suicidal." Narcissa said flatly. "But then I know you and your wife; that stupid child doesn't!" She covered her face with her hands for a moment. "Oh gods!" She groaned. "Don't tell me it's all going to start again!" She looked up, facing Harry directly.

"It happened like this." She said steadily. "Bella graduated from Hogwarts in 1968 and immediately took the Dark Mark. The following year, she married Rudolphus, but she wasn't really interested in him and he was...well muggles nowadays call it gay, don't they? It's not what we called him then, but he and Bella agreed to marry to shut the families up.

"All Bella cared about was her precious Dark Lord. He still looked mostly human, then, and he was attractive, in a cold way. He didn't know the meaning of love, but sex he understood and enjoyed, and since Bella was obviously willing and eager, he took full advantage.

"This would be about 1970 or so, about the time the first war started, and he took Bella with him everywhere, as his concubine and bodyguard. But it wasn't until '74 or '75 that she fell pregnant.

"She hadn't been taking precautions, because she wanted his child, and he hadn't, because he thought he'd messed about with the Dark Arts so long he'd become infertile. When he found out, the D..._Voldemort_" she pronounced the name with a visible effort, "was delighted. Poor Bella was thrilled, she thought she might finally have won his love, all she ever wanted. Then the baby was born..."

Narcissa paused, and for the first time, anger came into her voice.

"Bella was older than I, Harry. When I left Hogwarts, I was married off to Lucius straight away. He was already a Death-Eater, and expected me to take the Mark. But I was scared, and kept putting it off. Then Bella had her child, at Malfoy Manor. The most perfect little girl, she called her Arabella Cassiopeia Riddle. But he – Voldemort – was disappointed. He'd wanted a son. Not because he cared about who inherited his mantle, he was determined to live forever, but because he could have transferred what was left of his soul into a male child when it grew up. Become immortal by giving his own son up to the Dementors' Kiss and then taking over the soulless shell they left behind.

"He rejected the child, so Bella did as well, handing her to me. She and Voldemort carried on sleeping together, both hoping she'd be able to give him a male child, but she never caught again. Lucius didn't want the child around. There were those who would have done terrible things to have possession of Voldemorts' child, because she carried his blood and that might give them power over him. Lucius hadn't found his courage then – he never did until the day he died. So we sent the child away.

"It was then, Harry, that I decided I would never take the Dark Mark. I didn't care what Voldemort did to muggles or mudbloods, I'd even help him do it. But I couldn't and wouldn't swear eternal loyalty and obedience to a man who could reject his own child!

"We sent her to a family in Latveria, the von Dooms. They were related on one side to the King of Latveria, and on the other to the Gaunts. We thought it was a good choice. She went to Durmstrang under the name of Countess Arabella von Doom, and after that she worked for King Viktor – the one muggles call Doctor Doom.

"I used to write to her, but after her father died, she stopped answering me. Since then, I don't know what's become of her.

"Now I'm afraid that she's decided to take up her fathers' damned crusade. That war has cost us both, Harry, we know how much. I don't want your kids to suffer as you did, or any mother to go through what I did when I feared for Dracos' life.

"Stop Arabella, Harry, but please don't kill her unless there's no other choice."

"I won't, you've got my word on it." Harry promised. "Hopefully, though, it won't come to that. I can't say too much, but to judge by the people she's working with, she might just be no more than a common or garden villain. It's pretty well-known that I'm loaded, between what my parents and Sirius left me, so grabbing the kids for ransom would make sense."

Narcissa gave a rueful laugh. "What a funny old world, Harry! Here I am desperately hoping that my only niece is no more than a common criminal."

"Will you be OK?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "I'm old school, Harry. A lady doesn't let the side down. Besides, coffee with Steph will cheer me up."

"He really likes you." Harry observed. "You like him as well, don't you?"

Narcissa smiled sadly. "He's sweet and kind and charming, and he keeps asking me to dinner. But, Harry, I'm a good ten years older than him!"

"You look five years younger." Harry pointed out. "You know we age more slowly than muggles. Why not just give it a go? D'you think Draco would be upset, is that it?"

"He'd be thrilled, so would Astoria." Narcissa admitted. "But Steph's a muggle."

"And?" Harry said bluntly. "You don't have to tell him everything, Narcissa. You don't have to tell him anything before you're both ready, if it even gets that far. Dinner can't hurt, a kiss isn't a vow. Nowadays, even a romp around the bedroom doesn't mean eternal commitment!"

She laughed, a genuine, surprisingly merry laugh. "Harry Potter, you have the morals of an alley-cat!" She chided.

"Puts me one up on the missus." Harry allowed. "Far as I can tell, Ginny's got no morals at all!"

"That," Ron Weasley stated between bites, "is the last time I'm doing a kid!"

"Hear, hear!" Neville Longbottom responded from across the table. "The growing pains are something fierce!"

"Not to mention," Hermione added from beside Ron, "going through the entire process of puberty in ten minutes flat! Slow down, Ron, you'll..."

"..get indigestion." Ron said. "'Mione, in all the years you've known me, have I..."

"..ever had indigestion? Not once, darling, but there's always a first time." Hermione said firmly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "If you two are going to start finishing each others' sentences again, I'll put a Silence Hex on the both of you!" She told them in a mock-growl.

The blonde witch sitting beside Neville – his wife, Hannah – looked surprised. "Nev and I do that all the time, Gin. Don't you and Harry?"

"This is Ginny we're talking about." River put in. "Harry has all he can do getting a word in edgeways!"

"Thank you for your support, River, I'll wear it every day!" Ginny responded. "Still and all, that was a very sneaky scheme you came up with, wasn't it, Kratos?"

"It worked." Kratos grunted, before returning to the pork pie he was rapidly demolishing.

"And that," River announced, "is the highest compliment a Spartan can give! Kratos, I'm honoured."

"Well," Ron allowed, "we've got seven of SPECTREs' finest in custody. Would've been ten, but River and Kratos got a bit enthusiastic."

"Actually, Kratos did really well." Neville pointed out. "Spartans aren't used to leaving enemies alive, after all."

"It's not in our training." Kratos agreed. "What about the park?"

"I'm not Harrys' deputy for nothing." Ron stated. "I got Kingsley to swing it with the Council and the local police. The park was closed for part of the day because a film was being shot there. It works, because that's how those SPECTRE guys persuaded the Wardens to let them in in that van."

"Talking of the van." Hannah said. "How did you know to stop when you did, River? You were right where you needed to be at just the right time!"

"It was easy." River admitted. "I'd passed the van on my last round. The Park Service doesn't use Transits any more, for one thing. For another, all the vans they use are hybrids, and the rule is that they use the electric motor inside the parks. So I knew that one was fishy."

"Which only leaves the question," Neville put in, "of where your kids were while we were pretending to be them, Ginny?"

"The last place anyone would expect them to be." Ginny said. "With the Dursleys."

"But I thought you barely spoke to them?" Neville was surprised.

"Oh, that changed ages ago!" Ginny told him. "You really should keep up, Neville! The Daleks took Vernon Dursley in '08. Petunia was broken up about it and went to live with Dudley and his family at that huge place they've got in Bucks.

"She wrote Harry a year or so later. Such a sweet, sad, brave letter. She said she realised now that the Universe was a lot bigger than she'd let herself think, and that there were worse thing in it than wizards. She apologised for the way she'd treated Harrys' Mum and Harry himself, and asked us to forgive her. You know what a big softie Harry is when he's not being Mr Hard-Arse Auror, so of course he turned into a jelly on the spot.

"As for Big D, he and Harry had a couple of long talks. Dudley had a problem, you see, and this was one of his steps to deal with it. So, really, it's all OK now."

"To return to the matter in hand." Kratos said quietly. "What do we do with our prisoners? SPECTREs' reputation is that their people don't talk, and that unless they've offended against the organisations' rules, they will be defended or rescued."

"Well, unless they've got a lot of powerful wizards working with them," Hermione said, "none of them will be getting out of New Azkaban any time soon!"

"As to them talking," Ron said with a grim smile, "give me five minutes with their leader, and we'll know everything we need to know."

Control was not a woman to be easily fazed. She'd been a field agent as well as an analyst and case-officer, so she'd been there and bought the T-shirt. Nevertheless, every time she sat down with a wizard, the thought rose in her head: _And they call US the 'funny people'!_

Part of it, she knew, was due to ingrained expectations. She'd be more comfortable, she admitted, if the person sitting across from her was an old man with a long white beard, wearing a pointy hat and a purple robe with moons and stars on it. Instead, she faced a tallish, wiry young man in a smart but medium-priced suit and open-necked shirt. He was handsome, with untidy black hair and bright green eyes behind fashionable metal-framed glasses. He looked just what his cover ID proclaimed; a young DCI, not long out of University and firmly on the fast track to Commander.

But there was more to it than that. As a woman in a traditionally male role, Control had met her share of sexist, arrogant idiots, as well as rather too many carefully-androgynous 'new men'. But she had met some men of real power. The quiet authority of General Jack O'Neill was impressive. So was they way that, even from his wheelchair, Colonel Steve Rogers, Director of SHIELD, seemed to tower over everyone in a room. Most of all, the air of understated natural command that had clung, even in old age, around the late Brigadier Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart.

Harry Potter had that natural air of command, it showed in his posture, in the steady gaze of those startling eyes. But there was something else. Not command, not authority, but power. Not physical power, though that was there. Not the power of mind, though he was obviously an intelligent man. It was an otherworldly kind of power, an eldritch force that radiated from his gaze and almost set the air around him to crackling.

Harry suddenly grinned at her. A wide, dazzling, wholly unforced grin that lit up the room and was calculated to melt the most frozen of female hearts. _If I were married to him, I'd be so paranoid!_ She thought.

"Do I really freak you out that much?" He asked. "There are weirder things in the world than wizards, Emma!"

Mrs Peel smiled back. "There are, I suppose." She allowed. "But I was trained as a scientist, Harry. Aliens, mutants, Abnormals, those I can cope with. They come within the boundaries of science. Spies, saboteurs, terrorists, drug-dealers, all in a days' work. But magic – that's something from story-books!

"When I first met you, I was helping out an old friend, as well as keeping an eye on what he was up to. I didn't have time to consider the implications. Since then, I have, and they scare me. You scare me. I have no way of knowing what you're capable of, and that's frightening for somebody like me!"

"Well," Harry said, "right about now, I'm completely dependent on you, Emma. What do you know about this woman?"

Thankfully, it was a mobile phone he handed her, not a wizard photograph. She studied the screen, then turned to her own computer and called up a file.

"The Countess Arabella von Doom." She told Harry. "Approximately thirty-nine years old. Five feet ten, slender build, black and blue, no distinguishing. Place of birth and birth surname unknown, but holds both British and Latverian nationality. Odd, because Doom doesn't normally let his people have dual nationality.

"No educational records, which is also odd. At eighteen, she entered the Latverian Civil Service. Steady rise to Royal Advisor. Then in 1997, she resigned and left Latveria.

"That was when we took an interest. For two reasons. First nobody resigns from their job in Latveria. They may be moved to another job, but they don't resign or get fired. It's against the law to be unemployed in Latveria. To resign from government service there is, to all intents and purposes, a death sentence. But the Countess survived.

"Second, no native leaves Latveria without specific permission from Dr Doom, a very precise itinerary and an absolute guarantee – usually a family member – that they will return. But again, the Countess walked out free and clear. Now, it may be that she traded on her dual nationality, but Doom usually ignore diplomatic niceties unless it suits him not to. It may also be that he tolerates more from family than from other subjects, but that doesn't fit the record.

"So we thought she might have had something on Doom. Known something or seen something he didn't want broadcast. Either that, or she was on a very special mission for him. Naturally, we approached her, sent one of our best case officers in the hope of bringing her over, or finding out what she was up to.

"Our man signalled that he'd made initial contact and set up a meet, then he went dark. Completely dark. At the same time, the Countess dropped off the grid, just like that. We found our agent a month later, in a mental hospital in Belgrade, with total amnesia. He didn't know who he was or where he was or how he got there. He still doesn't.

"As to the Countess, she's stayed off the grid ever since, until about six weeks ago, when she flew into Heathrow Airport as bold as brass, with a passport in the name of Arabella Thompson, and rented a house on the river. We know she comes and goes, but we have the Devil of a job keeping a tail on her!"

Harry nodded. "Well, since I'm here asking about her, you've probably already worked out that this Countess is a witch. Her real name is Arabella Cassiopeia Riddle, and she is the natural daughter of Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, of whom you may have heard, and one Bellatrix Lestrange."

"So," Emma breathed, "the late and unlamented Lord Voldemort had a daughter. Please don't tell me she's as big a psycho as Daddy was!"

"Hopefully not." Harry said. "But saying that, she seems to have an unhealthy interest in my family – she's tried to have my wife and kids grabbed twice now. She's also mixing with some very unpleasant types, and that's what you can help me with, Emma.

"I need to know what assets and facilities SPECTRE currently has in and around London. I also need to know if they've been up to anything out of the ordinary recently.

"There's something going on, Emma, I can feel it in my bones!"


	4. Chapter 4

**The Dark Cycle 2: Opening Gambit**

**Chapter Four**

"On fatal terrain, fight" (Sun Tzu – _The Art of War_)

They came for Harry as he turned into the alley beside the Ministry of Magic. Two of them, in the robes and masks of Death-Eaters, stepped out to block his path.

Harry greeted them with a wolfish grin. "Bloody Hell, guys!" He said. "Those outfits are so last century!"

"You thought we were gone, Potter!" One of them crowed. "But as you see, our Dark Lords' legacy lives on!"

"Oh, I never thought you were gone." Harry told him. "But I do wonder where you suddenly got the balls to crawl out from the stones you were hiding under."

"We were waiting." The Death Eater replied. "Waiting for the right time. Now our Dark Lady has come, and this time, there will be no defeat!"

They were talking for a reason, Harry knew. The smart move would have been to down him at once. His reputation as a duellist was widespread and formidable, so either they were scared to take him on, despite their bravado, or...

Harry spun and crouched at the same time. The hex that had been meant to hit him in the back went over his head and lost itself among the wheelie bins at the end of the alley. His own Stun hex shot up from ground level, catching the third Death Eater between wind and water and crumpling him to the concrete.

Harry was already moving, a diving roll to one side as two more hexes burned pits in the ground where he'd been. As he suspected, his opponents were traditional duellists, trained to stand their ground and sling spells. His own, more athletic and kinetic style of duelling was what made the new generation of Aurors he had trained so dangerous. He came up on his feet to deliver a second Stun that put down the further of his two enemies. Then he took a short run forward and leaped up to the rubbish skip nearby. But instead of landing on top, at the last minute he pushed off from it toward his final foe, a _parkour_ move that allowed him to deliver a flying kick, sending the last Death Eater back across the alley to slide down the wall in a broken heap.

He took his time making sure that all three were staying down, at least for the moment. Then he took out his pocket mirror. "Duty Officer." He requested, then. "Hi, Linda. Look, we've had an unexpected delivery and the packages are a bit heavy and slightly damaged. Could you send a couple of husky lads out to help me with 'em? Cheers."

Arabella Riddle wanted to scream. She wanted to hex the smug, sycophantic grin off this idiots' face. Except she needed him, so she contented herself with asking, in an icy tone:

"Exactly how many kinds of idiot are you, Fitzmalfoy?"

The tall, thin, ascetic-faced man looked puzzled. "Mistress?" He asked in a hurt tone. "I don't understand. By now, Harry Potter, the man who murdered your father, will be either dead or injured beyond hope of recovery. Surely this is what you want? The greatest obstacle to our rise removed at a stroke?

"I sent three of our best. Men who served your great father with distinction and courage. That foolish youth will be no match for them!"

Again, Arabella repressed the urge to howl at the ceiling.

"So," she said coldly, "you carefully chose three superannuated goons, who've been in hiding for the last seventeen years, wetting themselves at every knock on the door in case Harry Potter had come for them. You chose these out-of-date paragons of cowardice and sent them against a highly-trained Auror. A young man at the peak of his powers, ruthless, athletic and skilled in every kind of combat magic. The man who defeated my father.

"Does this not strike you as even slightly silly, Regius?"

"M..Mistress?" Fitzmalfoy half-stuttered.

"_Don't_ call me that!" Arabella fumed. "It makes me sound like a second-rate dominatrix! Call me Arabella, or Ms Riddle, or Lady Arabella if you must, but not Mistress. I am not some kind of female clone of my father!"

"What," asked Regius carefully, "is a clone?"

Arabella relieved her feelings in a torrent of very fluent and very vulgar Latverian. Just as she ran out of breath, a soft contralto voice intruded.

"Bad moment?" The newcomer asked.

She was as tall as Arabella, but fuller-figured. She had long, dark red hair and attractive features made even more striking by her indigo skin and yellow eyes.

"Raven?" Arabella said. "Oh, thank the gods you're here!"

Raven Darkholme grinned. "I've never known you be glad to see me before, Arabella. Things must be going badly."

"Oh, you have no idea!" Arabella groaned. "You may be the most annoying woman on Earth, Raven, but at least you're not an idiot. Unfortunately, almost everyone else around here is!

"This nincompoop, for instance, took it upon himself to order a hit on Harry Potter!"

"But I thought you wanted Potter alive?" Raven noted.

"I do." Arabella stated. "Which is why Regius here is a fool."

"Lady Arabella!" Fitzmalfoy said firmly. "I am prepared to take any reprimand you care to issue. However, I must ask you not to insult me – or any other wizard – in front of this muggle!"

Raven Darkholme moved in a blur. Before he even knew what was happening, Fitzmalfoy was bent back across a table, with a gleaming blade pressed to his throat.

"I'm a mutant," Raven purred, "not a muggle. But I suppose you no more know what a mutant is than you do a clone. Pride in your heritage is a fine thing, Regius, but ignorance of important things outside of it is dangerous as well as foolish."

"Let him up, Raven," Arabella said, "before he makes a mess on the carpet.

"Regius, take yourself out of here, and for your own sake, try to stay off the Ministrys' radar. There'll be no revival of the Death Eaters unless and until I say so. I'll send for you when I need you. And if you haven't managed to get yourself killed!"

Fitzmalfoy left. Arabella flopped down in a chair and rubbed at her head. "Raven, there's some Firewhisky in that cupboard. I'll have a large one."

After a while, Raven said. "You know, Arabella, Regius may have had the right idea, in a way."

"What do you mean?" Arabella asked.

"Well, both you and Schmidt had the idea that if Potter was killed, everyone he knows would immediately start turning the world upside down to find out who did it and why. That would almost certainly expose us.

"But that only applies if the killer isn't known. Suppose Potter were to be killed by someone known, and with an obvious motive. Someone like a former, what's the name, Death Eater?"

Arabella eyed her shrewdly. "You didn't come here just on the off-chance, did you, Raven?"

"Now that you mention it," Raven grinned, "I did have a thought or two..."

Pierre Desroches had more or less got over the shock of the events in the park. Well enough to take stock of the situation. It was clear that their targets were more powerful and influential than the Countess had led them to believe. Both she and Number One had told him that these magic-users were not allowed to use their skills in public. Therefore, Desroches deduced, they must have somehow closed the park off on that day, and populated it with their own kind, just to trap him and his people.

Not just their own kind, either. Desroches hadn't seen too much before the Potter woman had hit him with that stun hex, but the blonde with the gun was clearly a professional, and he had recognised the mercenary Spartides. That man didn't work cheap – he was the best in his field, now that the Highlander was semi-retired.

Desroches had no idea where he was, but took it as read he was in the custody of the Ministry of Magic, an organisation whose existence he'd known about for precisely a month and still didn't wholly believe in. The room he'd just been brought into by a couple of black-robed men with the air and attitude of police resembled an interrogation room, except there seemed to be no camera and the inevitable large two-way mirror was missing. They'd left him there to get nervous, but Desroches was too old a hand for that, so he waited.

Sooner than expected, the door opened and another black-robed man came in. This one was a giant, he'd have topped Desroches by at least four inches and was built on heroic lines. His sharp features were not handsome, but rather pleasant and open, and he had a mop of fiery red hair. He carried a roll of parchment and a quill pen.

_Are these wizards so primitive?_ Desroches asked himself. _They use quills and parchment, and doubtless this monster has come to either scare or beat the truth out of me. He will fail._

The man sat across the table from him and began to speak in a pleasant baritone. "_Bonjour_ _Monsieur Desroches,_ _comment allez-vous?"_ He asked in not-too-badly accented French. "Our files indicate that your English is fluent, so do you mind if we use that? My French is a bit limited, despite my sister-in-laws' best efforts."

Desroches gave a typically Gallic shrug. "As you wish, Monsieur. We will 'ave leetle in the way of conversation, anyway."

Several floors above, in Harry's office, there were chuckles among the group gathered round the scrying glass.

"Your brother's a crafty git, Gin." Harry allowed. "He's as fluent in French as the rest of us, thanks to Fleur. But if he questions Desroches in English, no matter how fluent he is, he'll have to think more about his answers. Everything we need will be fresh in his mind, because he won't want to make a slip."

"So that's why." Ginny noted. "I did wonder, because Ron picked up French quicker than you did. Fleur nearly gave up on you, you know."

"I know." Harry gave a rueful grin that turned mischievous. "Gabrielle did offer me private lessons, you know."

"I'll just bet she did." Ginny replied with a scowl.

"Oh, come on, Ginny!" Hermione laughed. "It's hardly odd for a young girl to have an enormous crush on a hero who rescued her, now is it?"

"Shut up." Ginny told her, but she was grinning.

Back in Interrogation, Ron had sat down opposite Desroches and unrolled his parchment.

"Formalities first." He announced. "Name, Pierre Jean Desroches. Age, thirty-nine. Unmarried but you have a girlfriend in Marseilles, which is your official residence. EU citizen, naturally. Current employer, Radix Exports, which is a known front for SPECTRE. OK so far?"

"Except that I know nothing of this...SPECTRE?" Desroches replied.

"Of course you don't." Ron said amiably. "We'll get on to that in a bit. Now then, next of kin, would that be your lady friend? Do you want us to contact her? She'll want to know you're all right. Or is there anyone else you want us to contact?"

"Among the effects you took from me," Desroches told him, "is a business card for an advocate, a solicitor, you call them, in London. I wish you to contact them, and will answer no questions until they are present."

"Hmm." Ron said. "Actually a solicitor is more like a notary than an advocate. An advocate would be a barrister."

Desroches brow creased with annoyance ("Nice one, Ron!" Harry said upstairs) and he replied with some asperity. "Nevertheless, it is my right to 'ave a lawyer in attendance, is it not?"

"Actually, no." Ron told him, still in the same amiable tone. "You're in wizard custody, and the only right you have, or will ever have, is to tell the truth. We don't have lawyers, as such, not criminal ones anyway. We don't need them, because there's never any doubt about guilt, innocence or motive. Wizards always know the truth."

Shocked, Desroches looked up directly into Rons' eyes. They were blue, piercing and alight with a fierce intelligence. This was no simple thug sent to intimidate. Then the eyes seemed to expand and swallow Desroches whole.

The Soulgaze is an ancient wizard technique that allows the user to know everything about the person subjected to it. Between wizards, it can be dangerous, but used on a muggle, there is little risk. It was a skill Ron Weasley excelled at, and it was only a matter of seconds before he took his eyes away from a shaken and white-faced Desroches.

"_Merci beaucoup, Monsieur._" He said, his accent now flawless. He stood up and made to leave the room. "That's all I need." He said. "You'll be taken back to your cell in a minute and go before the Wizengamot in a day or so. Then, unless some muggle agency wants you more than we do, a nice long stay in New Azkaban. Enjoy."

Upstairs, Harry said to Hermione and Ginny. "It's going to take Ron a while to type that lot up. How about a coffee?"

"Sounds good!" Ginny agreed. "River and Kratos have got the kids, so I'm not worried about them. The kids I mean, I don't hold out much hope for the grown-ups!"

"Why is it," Hermione asked, "that the meanest, toughest blokes going - blokes like Kratos or my other half, for instance – are always as daft as brushes around kids?"

"Daft as brushes?" Ginny cocked an eyebrow at Harry as they walked out into the big, open-plan Auror office. "Remember when she used to talk like she'd swallowed a dictionary?"

Harry was about to reply when a hatred-filled voice yelled: "_POTTER!_"

_If you can catch a weak man between timidity and cupidity, you have him._ It was advice Heinrich Blofeld had given Arabella Riddle soon after they first met, and as usual, it was correct. One of the porters at the Ministry was a former Death-Eater, identified by Regius Fitzmalfoy, who had managed to keep his old affiliation a secret. He also had a low salary and a high-maintenance wife. The combination of a threat to reveal his secret to the Aurors and the offer of a well-filled bag of Galleons had been quite enough to get Arabella and Raven into the Ministry through a little-used staff entrance, and to acquire visitor passes.

Once in, directions to the Foreign Section were easily obtained from an obliging receptionist, and the office they wanted had the occupants' name on the door. Arabella knocked firmly, and a voice called "Come!" immediately. She wasted no time, striding straight in, pointing her wand and snapping "_Imperio!_"

Draco Malfoy froze at his desk, his expression blank. Raven carefully closed the office door and began to study him. "Can you get him to stand up and walk about a bit, Arabella?" She asked. "I need to get the height right and to get a sense of his body language and the way he moves."

At a gesture from Arabellas' wand, Draco got up and walked around the office for a few seconds. At another request from Raven, he spoke a few commonplace phrases.

"Right!" She said. "That's all I need. It's not as if I'll be him for long, after all."

She shed the guise of a middle-aged witch she'd been wearing, but before she began her transformation into Draco, Arabella asked. "Are you sure about this, Raven? Potter's a powerful wizard. Not only that, but I hear he's trained in hand-to-hand, muggle style."

"Well and so am I!" Raven stated. "I'd be surprised if he's as good as I am, Arabella. I only know one person who is. They call him Wolverine, and if you meet _that _man, dear, I advise you to run, very fast!

"Anyway," she held up the metal gauntlet she wore on her left hand, "the Satan Claw will give me an edge!"

With that, she flowed and changed into an exact replica of Draco, nodded once to Arabella, and went out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Leaving Draco where he was – he wasn't going anywhere – Arabella placed the vial on his blotter. Timing was everything here, and she needed to wait for Ravens' signal. The pursuers must find Draco here, the murder weapon before him, and the poison in his system. But he must live long enough to make a dying confession. Murder, confession, suicide, case closed. Arabella sighed. She had truly wanted to keep Potter alive, to see him witness everything he'd built torn down and a true wizard world built on its' ruins.

_We can't always have everything we want._ She reminded herself. That had been her fathers' mistake. He'd wasted time searching for the Elder Wand when he should have been hunting Potter, for instance. She looked around the office, and her attention was caught by a painting that hung on one wall. It was clearly a muggle work, which was odd for the office of a Slytherin Pureblood.

Closer inspection showed it to be some kind of crowd scene. The images appeared quite crude, almost stick-men, but there was a vitality, a sense of reality to them. A small plaque beneath declared it to be a reproduction of a piece entitled 'Going to the Match', painted in 1953 by someone called L S Lowry. Surprised at the quality of the work – she was unfamiliar with the artist, though she knew the work of several muggle painters - Arabella didn't notice the movement behind her until a strong hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her head-first into the picture.

She didn't black out, but she was dazed and seeing double for a few moments. Long enough for her assailant to exit the office and set off after Raven at a dead run. Swearing, Arabella shook her head to clear it and took off after him. The fat was truly in the fire, now. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy had it in him to resist her Imperius Curse? Who would have thought he'd attack her physically? She pursued him with little hope, out of necessity. He must know the building like the back of his hand, she didn't, and even if she had, she was no match in foot-speed for the long-legged Draco. But Raven would need her help, so she followed as fast as she could.

Harry was trained, alert and had been attacked already that day, so he reacted at once. Even if he had been the type to freeze in surprise, the sight of Draco Malfoy bearing down on him with lethal intent took him straight back to Hogwarts, so he reacted. His perfectly-timed counter sent Harrys' opponent in one direction and his weapon in another.

Draco executed a perfect breakfall and roll, coming back up on his feet and charging down on Harry again. It was then that things began to fall into place.

The eye sees everything, but the brain only processes some of it. Ziva, Duncan and Dante had been at pains to teach Harry how to ensure that his brain processed everything in a combat situation. Even as Draco charged, Harry realised several things. The weapon Draco had used was not his wand, but an ugly-looking combat knife of muggle make. Draco had come in holding it low, in the manner of a trained knife-fighter, and now showed unarmed combat skills Harry knew he could not have. Harry needed to learn more, so instead of countering again, he dodged at the last moment.

Draco's clenched left fist came down on the desk Harry had been standing in front of, splitting the heavy oak top in two and causing the desk to collapse.

_What the Hell?_ Harry was shocked. Not only was Draco right-handed, but of all the martial artists Harry knew, only a few could have split three-inch oak that easily! By this time he had his wand out, noting that everyone else had cleared a space, leaving him room to move. Draco extended his left hand toward Harry and a bolt of electricity shot out of the fingers. Harry blocked with a Shield Charm and countered, not with a hex or curse, but with a Revealing Charm.

'Draco' shrieked in pain, then blurred and shifted into a different form. A tall, full-figured woman in a form-fitting suit of black metal mesh, an empty sheath on her hip and a metal gauntlet on her left hand. She had red hair, blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. Eyes filled with pain and anger as she leaped at Harry, only to be knocked aside into the ruins of the desk she had smashed as someone cast _Impedimenta_.

Harry swung to face the caster, to see the real Draco, flushed and panting, his wand levelled at the intruder.

"Stay down, bitch," Draco growled, "or the next one's _Cruciatus_!"

Then Hermione yelled. "Look out, Draco!"

As Draco dodged to one side, Hermione cast a Stun hex at the woman who was running up behind him, wand out. The newcomer managed to deflect Hermiones' spell at the cost of almost losing her balance, but the interruption allowed her blue-faced ally to reach her side, and the two stood back-to-back in a ring of Aurors. Harry recognised the newcomer.

"Arabella Riddle!" He shouted. "Put down your wand and surrender! Don't be as big a fool as your parents' were!"

She ignored him, speaking instead to her ally. "You should've brought a gun, Raven!"

"Maybe," the woman addressed as 'Raven' replied, "but I don't like 'em much. Can't you do that teleport thing?"

Arabella shook her head. "Not here. Only place you can Apparate in the Ministry is the lobby upstairs. We'll just have to do the best we can!"

"You're a cool pair, aren't you?" Ginny called. "But you came after my kids, so you're gonna be cold by the time I'm done with you!"

"Make them kill you, if it comes to it." Arabella told Raven. "There's no way to resist magical interrogation."

"Surrender now, or we start hexing you!" Harry told them firmly.

Then there was a shattering crack, followed by a thunderous boom, and another newcomer appeared. This was a man, slightly over the middle height and powerfully built, with a squarish face accentuated by a carefully-trimmed beard. He wore tight-fitting green and yellow clothing, and a green and black cloak with an elaborate collar. His dark, piercing eyes swept around the circle of wizards.

"Do not think," he told them in a deep voice, "that your puny skills are a match for Mordo! I can break all of you as easily as I passed your pathetic security spells.

"Countess, Ms Darkholme, Tesla and Arkham have completed their preparations. Time is short and we are needed. Come!"

With that, he grasped both women by the wrist, and disapparated again, this time silently.

For a moment there was silence, then Draco said to nobody in particular. "And I came to work expecting another dull day at the office!"

"From my viewpoint," Harry replied, "this is just another day at the office!"


	5. Epilogue

**The Dark Cycle 2: Opening Gambit**

**Epilogue**

"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger." (Elvish proverb)

Tesla was making final adjustments to his equipment, assisted by Raven and the Red Skull. The centrepiece was a kind of crystal lens on a metre-tall mount fed by several thick cables that were so arranged and marked as to be part of the complex Circle of Summoning Arkham had drawn on the floor. Around the circle, at equidistant points, three smaller but equally elaborate circles had been placed. Mordo, Arabella and Justin DuMorne each stood in one of these circles. High above, in a glass overlook, Arkham and Blofeld monitored the operation, prepared to activate any of a dozen SPECTRE or HYDRA-designed safety and security systems at need. The Master lounged beside Teslas' control station, watching half in eager anticipation, half in ill-concealed contempt.

"Right!" Tesla called. "We are online and on time. Engaging power grid in five, four, three, two, one. Power on!"

A pervasive hum filled the air. The crystal began to glow, and images formed inside it, images of space that moved in a blur, as if the crystal were seeking something.

"Begin!" Arkham called from the overlook. The three wizards bent their wills on the crystal, concentrating on the series of nine arcane symbols Arkham had discovered. Immediately the images in the crystal ceased to move so rapidly. A sense of purpose seemed to emerge as the image moved forward, gradually zeroing in on a specific place and time. A small, dark planet on the edge of the Galaxy.

The planet grew until it filled the crystal, then the image blurred and changed, and something was looking at them out of it. The Master stood up and approached the crystal as the image within it became clearer.

It was black, man-sized but insectlike, with six bent legs supporting a horizontal abdomen. The thorax was vertical, like a mantis, and supported two clawed, armlike limbs. The head was triangular, almost dart-like, with several pairs of eyes that now focused on the Master. There was a hissing, clicking sound, followed by words, in a deep, harsh voice.

"What do you want?" It asked.

Magic and technology, it is generally assumed, do not mix. An excess of magic will cause advanced technology to misbehave, whilst in the presence of a large amount of active high-tech equipment, spells and charms are known to go awry.

But there were two men who were having none of this nonsense. A retired civil servant from the British Ministry of Magic and one of the richest and most brilliant muggle inventors in the world both agreed that there had to be a way round it. Arthur Weasley and Antony Stark had spent every spare hour on finding that way. It had involved outbreaks of purple acne, the accidental Transfiguration of several chickens into flying chihuahuas, the firm female bonding of Mrs Molly Weasley and Ms Pepper Potts and the violent demolition of six garden sheds to get it right, but they had done it!

Harry Potter knew they had succeeded because he was standing in their first successful joint venture. The basement of his country home at Godrics' Hollow was now a highly advanced communications centre. The stone walls, floor and ceiling were laced with fibre-optic and superconductor circuits that effectively foiled all forms of satellite and other surveillance techniques, reinforced with the most sophisticated Protection and Concealing charms the Department of Mysteries could develop.

On one side was a work area with servers, a powerful computer linked to the internet and an equally up to date free-standing unit. There was also a scrying glass linked to the expanding World-Wide Wizard Web and a framed picture of an empty armchair into which Harry could summon the portrait-self of any dead wizard he chose.

On the other side was a communications suite with several magic mirrors and an equal number of video screens, as well as scrambled and secure telephones. All the magical equipment was guarded by Arthur Weasleys' Tech-Shield Charm, and all the muggle equipment was pulse-hardened. Everything worked. So far, anyway.

At the moment, two of the mirrors and several of the screens were active, Harry was in conference.

"I think the attempt to assassinate me and frame Draco was sort of a Plan B." He was saying. "Their original plan involved Ginny and the kids. The SPECTRE operative Ron Soulgazed knew that the Countess, Arabella Riddle, had appeared out of nowhere about three months ago, but seemed to be well-known to Number One. We assume Number One to be Heinrich Blofeld. Desroches and his team were ordered to seize Ginny and the kids, but not to harm them.

"It seems that the Countess wanted to do something to them all, and then release them with a message for me. No idea what it was, except that he overheard a conversation where Arabella mentioned something called the Azrael Geas. I've never heard of that one, but since Azrael is the Angel of Death, I assume it's not very nice."

The tall, hangdog-faced man in one of the mirrors gave a low whistle. "It isn't nice." Said Harry Dresden. "Not very nice at all! The Azrael Geas is like a conditional Killing Curse. It stays on, or in, the victim and only kills them if certain conditions are either met, or fail to be met. It's a very old curse, it fell out of use when the Imperius Curse was perfected some centuries ago. It used to be used to control people, obviously. If you do or don't do this or that, you or someone close to you will die.

"I guess someone wanted to make sure you toed a line Harry. But who and what line?"

"That's the puzzle." Harry allowed. "Arabella Riddle has motive enough to want me dead, if only to avenge her parents. But the fact that she went the long way round to try and control me, then developed an unnecessarily complicated plan to kill me, means there must be more involved."

"It may be," Emma Peel commented from one of the video screens, "that Ms Riddle is not the only, and perhaps not even the major, player in what's going on. Until this all happened, for instance, we were completely unaware that SPECTRE even knew about the wizard world. Now they appear to be working with a witch. From everything we now know about Voldemort and his Death Eaters – and that's mostly what your people have told us, Harry – for Ms Riddle to work closely, or at all, with muggles is a wide divergence form her fathers' ideology. So either her aims are smaller, merely criminal, not political, or she's part of something much larger!"

"Larger indeed!" This came from another video screen, showing a man well over sixty, with silver hair and a lined face, but whose clear eyes showed no diminution of energy or strength.

"I take it that we were right about Arabella's partner in the attempt on my life, Mr Lensherr?" Harry enquired. "She is a mutant?"

"Not just any mutant." Erik Lensherr stated. "Raven Darkholme, alias Mystique, was a close, indeed intimate, associate of mine in my more political days. She was, in fact, second in command of the Brotherhood of Mutants, the terrorist group I formed and led for so many wasted years.

"As well as her shapeshifting abilities, which allow her to accurately mimic any human being after only brief observation, she is a first class martial artist, specialising in hand to hand and bladed weapons, and a skilled computer hacker. She also shares some of the enhanced agility and resilience possessed by her son, the late Kurt Wagner, codenamed Nightcrawler.

"In 2008, Mystique held the conviction that we should allow the Dalek invasion to run its course, then emerge to impose mutant rule on the shattered remnants of humanity. I was less sanguine about the likelihood of any Earthly life-form surviving the Dalek purge. Those creatures reminded me too much of the Nazis of my youth. Raven and I disagreed, and she left, refusing to fight with us. In the ensuing chaos I lost track of her, and even Charles was unable to trace her with Cerebro.

"If Raven Darkholme is prepared to work with non-mutants, wizard or not, there must indeed be something big in the wind.

"Do you have any thoughts, Colonel Rogers?"

Colonel Steve Rogers, Director of SHIELD, was a handsome, blond man who looked to be in his late 30's. Everyone here, however, knew that he had been born in the 1920s, had spent at least two decades in suspended animation, and even now was prevented from ageing by the experimental regimen that had transformed a scrawny young man into the epitome of human physical potential. But even that had not helped when a Dalek beam had struck him in the spine and Captain America had become Colonel Rogers.

Now he leaned forward in his wheelchair, his face grave. "Very big, Mr Lensherr." He said in a quiet, firm tone. "If the description of the battle-gear Mystique was wearing is correct, then I can only conclude that HYDRA is mixed up in this.

"The suit itself is metal mesh over unstable polymer. Proof against blades, fire and small arms short of a direct, point-blank hit. It's light to wear and the unstable polymer makes it self-repairing and comfortable at almost any temperature. The basic design was created for SHIELD by Tony Stark and stolen by HYDRA. Nowadays, versions of it are available on the black market almost anywhere.

"The clincher is the glove she was wearing, the Satan Claw. The Claw was invented by Baron Wolfgang von Strucker in the 1960s. Strucker had been the Red Skulls' second in command at HYDRA during the war, and escaped when we destroyed their base. HYDRA scientists had developed an anti-ageing serum based on Source blood which Schmidt had given to Strucker. As a result, Strucker was able to reform HYDRA and ran the organisation until Nick fury finally killed him in 2005.

"We thought HYDRA had fallen apart until we found out from Harry that he'd been attacked by them a couple years back. Now we have a lot of chatter indicating they're active again and have gone back to their old Nazi-style ideology.

"But if Mystique had a Satan Claw, she could only have got it from HYDRA. Even Tony Stark's never been able to duplicate the technology safely, so nobody else makes them. They're very unstable, as dangerous to the wearer as to anyone else."

"So," Harry pondered. "we've got Voldemorts' daughter, a former mutant terrorist, SPECTRE and HYDRA all working together! Anything else needed to make my day complete?"

The man in the second mirror had so far not spoken, but now he cleared his throat and everyone listened, because this was Dr Stephen Strange, the Sorceror Supreme.

"The presence of my old adversary, Baron Mordo, in this is deeply disturbing." He said grimly. "Mordo does not concern himself with matters of less than cosmic import, his arrogance is too great. For the same reason, he rarely works with others unless they are his pawns, or have something to offer him.

"As Mr Dresden and Mr Potter will be aware, the Dark Cycle has begun. At this time, the barriers between worlds grow thin, and dark entities probe at them, seeking a way to cross between.

"The last Dark Cycle fell in 1925, with almost disastrous consequences. The sunken city of R'lyeh rose out of the sea, and had it not been for the courage of one Norwegian sailor and the united wills of the White Council, Great Cthulhu would have been freed to wreak havoc on Earth.

"Be warned, if some unholy alliance is planning to take advantage of the Cycle, we may stand on the brink of oblivion, or worse."

There was little else to say. Everyone promised to watch out for anything out of the ordinary. Everyone promised to keep everyone else in the loop, and that was it.

Harry went back upstairs, to be met by River Song.

"I have to leave soon." She announced without preamble. "I'm needed elsewhere, but I've got time to run an errand or two if you need me to, Harry."

"I do." He admitted. "I need you to go to Duncan MacLeod in Paris, and Dante Sparda in Vie de Marlie. I don't know if my comms with them are secure, and I need them briefed in. Can you do that?"

"Certainly." She said. "Anything else?"

"Well, there's a detective in Portland called Nick Burkhardt..." Harry began.

"The Grimm?" River asked. "You know him?"

"We've worked together." Harry told her. "He has a friend who's a _blutbad_. Might be useful if they also know what's going on."

"Leave it with me, sweetie!" River grinned. "You haven't asked me for a snog, Harry. I'm disappointed."

"You want Ginny to hex us both into the Nevernever?" Harry asked, and they both laughed.

After dinner, Harry took Kratos aside and updated him on what he'd learned. The big Spartan sighed.

"Gods and monsters." He opined. "It's always gods and monsters for the likes of us, Harry! Do you want me to stay around for a while?"

"I'd feel a lot happier if you could!" Harry allowed. "Do you have anything else to do?"

"Nothing I'd rather do!" Kratos replied.

"The kids will be delighted to have Uncle Kratos around for a bit longer." Harry told him.

"Uncle Kratos." The Spartan said softly. "It will be good to be part of a family again, if only for a little while."


End file.
